Discipline: A Novel

CHAPTER XXX.

"But seriously, Charlotte," said I, when at a late hour we found
ourselves once more alone in our chamber, "seriously, do you
think it was quite right in you to use this concealment with me?"

"Seriously, I think it was. Long before I knew you, I could
have guessed that you would dislike receiving even a trifling service
from Mr. ----. No, I never yet called Henry Graham by
that upstart mercantile name, and I never will. To tell you the
truth, Ellen, my brother had so far made me his confidant, that,
judging of you by myself, I thought you would rather lose your
money than owe it to his good offices."

"I am sorry you thought it necessary to humour my pride at
such an expense. Humbled and mortified I might have been by
any kindness from Mr. Maitland; but I have perhaps deserved
the humiliation more than the kindness. He owes me a little
mortification, for drawing him into the greatest folly he ever was
guilty of."

"Oh, you must not imagine that all my discretion was exerted
only to humour your saucy spirit. I had a purpose of my own to
serve. I dare say we should never have slid into any real intimacy,
if you had known me to be the sister of a quondam lover; watching,
no doubt, with a little womanly jealousy, the character of one
whom my favourite brother once loved better than me."

"I am persuaded this could have made little difference; for my
faults, unfortunately, will not be concealed; and my good qualities
I shall always be willing enough to display."

"Oh, to be sure, my dear humble Miss Percy would knowingly
and wittingly have come here to ingratiate herself with us all!
No doubt, you would have been much more at home with us, had
you known our connexion with your old admirer! and no doubt,
you would have quietly waited his arrival here, that you might be
courted in due form!"

"Pshaw, Charlotte, I am sure that it--I hope--I mean, I am
quite certain that your brother has no such nonsense in his thoughts.
And I am sure it is much better it should be so; for you know I
have always told you that I have a natural indifference about me--Heigho!"

"What! even after you have seen that 'it was your duty to be
in love long ago!' Will you 'deprive' yourself of 'the honour,'
the 'happiness'--"

"Surely, Charlotte, you will never be so mischievous, so cruel,
as to repeat these thoughtless, unmeaning expressions to your
brother! You know they were spoken under entire misconception.
And, besides, to be sensible of what I ought once to have done is
a very different thing from being able to do it now."

"Make yourself quite easy, my dear Ellen," said Charlotte, with
a provoking smile, "I have more esprit de corps than to tell a lady's
secret. Besides, even for my brother's own sake, I shall leave him
to make discoveries for himself. But by the way, it is very good-natured
in me to promise all this; for I have reason to be angry,
that you think it necessary to warn me against repeating anything
uttered in the mere unguardedness of chit-chat."

I made no apology; for I have such an abhorrence of trick and
contrivance of every kind, that, to own the truth, I, at that moment,
felt half-justified in withdrawing part of my confidence from
Charlotte. "How in the world did such a scheme occur to you?"
said I, after a pause. "Nothing like a plot ever enters my head."

"It occurred to me in the simplest way possible, my dear. Henry
writes to me remitting your money; describing you so as to prevent
any chance of imposition; and charging me not to rest till I have
found you. 'It will distress her,' says he, 'to owe this little
service to me, but perhaps there is no remedy.' Now, was not the
very spirit of contradiction enough to make one devise a remedy?
Then he goes on--stay, here is the letter:--

"'If she be found, I do not ask you to receive her to your acquaintance,
to your intimacy, there is something in Miss Percy
which will irresistibly win you to both. But I do ask you to tell
me, with perfect candour, the impression which her character makes
upon your mind. Tell me, with minute exactness, of her temper,
her sentiments, her employments, her pleasures. Describe even
her looks and gestures. There is meaning in the least of them.
Write fearlessly--I am no weak lover now. I know you ladies
are all firm believers in the eternity of love; and one part of the
passion is indeed immortal in a heart of ordinary warmth and delicacy.
My interest in Miss Percy's welfare and improvement is
not less strong than in yours, my own Charlotte. Perhaps the
precariousness of her situation even turns my anxieties more
strongly towards her. Of course, this will no longer be the case
when I know that she is safe at Eredine; for you must prevail
upon her to visit Eredine. She has a thousand little womanlinesses
about her, which you could never observe in an ordinary acquaintance
of calls and tea-drinkings; and you must be intimate with
her before you can know or value that delightful warmth and singleness
of heart, which cannot but attach you. I am sure she will
bewitch my father. There is a gladness in her smile that will
delight his very soul.'

"Have not Henry and I shown a very decent portion of Highland
second-sight and discretion, think you, Ellen? His prediction
has been quite verified; and I am sure I have managed the plot
incomparably."

"Ah, but Charlotte, after all, I wonder how you found it practicable.
It was a hundred to one that somebody should have let
me into the secret."

"Hum! I might have been in some danger while we were in
Edinburgh, though few people there knew anything of the matter.
But, from the moment we reached Glen Eredine, I knew we were
safe. Nobody here would mention to an inmate of our family the
only shade that ever rested on its name. Thank Heaven, even
this stain is effaced now;--if, indeed, it be a stain to submit to a
temporary degradation in obedience to a mother. You need not
smile, Ellen. I am not so prejudiced as you think me. I know
that if the name of those merchants had been mean as obscurity
could make it, it would have become honourable when borne by
Henry Graham. And to be sure, all professions are alike in the eye
of reason; only there are some which I think a gentleman should
leave to people who need money to distinguish them."

"Well," said I, laughing, "now that you have convinced me
that you have no prejudice, tell me how you could he sure that I
only knew your brother by his 'upstart mercantile name.' If he
had had the spirit of his sister, he could not have refrained from
hinting his right to be called a Graham."

"Oh, but Henry has nothing boastful in his disposition; and I
knew that, having given up his name to please his uncle, he scorned
to make the sacrifice by halves. The old gentleman hated us all
as a clan of rebels; and, while he lived, my mother would never
even allow us to address our letters to Henry under his real name;
and I don't believe poor Henry himself ever mentioned it to
a human being. So, before I saw you, I guessed that you might
not be in the secret; and the moment I entered on the business
with you, I found I had guessed right. But I dare say Henry will
tell you his whole story now; for you must have many a confidential
tete-a-tete."

Confidential tete-a-tetes with Mr. Maitland! The idea led me
into such a reverie, that before I spoke again Charlotte was in bed,
and asleep.

I rose early; and yet, in three months of country negligence,
my clothes had all grown so troublesomely unbecoming, that
before I could make them look tolerable, the family were assembled
at breakfast. Maitland took his place by me. "I will sit between
my sisters," said he; and from that time he called me, "Sister
Ellen." The kindness of his manner made me burn with shame
at the recollection of my ungenerous purpose against his peace.
I held down my head, and was ready to thank Heaven that I saw
him well and happy. I was very glad, however, when I handed
him his tea, that my hand and arm were quite as beautiful as ever.
My embarrassment soon wore away. Maitland had evidently
forgiven, he had almost, I thought, forgotten my misconduct. So
respectful, so kind were his attentions, so equally divided between
Charlotte and me, that I soon forgot my restraint; and caught
myself chattering and playing the fool in my own natural manner.

The day was past before I was aware; and every day stole away
I know not how. Their flight was marked only by our progress
in the books which Maitland read with Charlotte and me; or by
that of a huge plantation which we all superintended together.
Yet I protest, I have suffered more weariness in one party of
pleasure, than I did in a whole winter in Glen Eredine. For, though
the gentlemen always spent the mornings apart from us, Charlotte
and I were at no loss to fill up the hours of their absence in the
duties consequent upon being not only joint housewives in the
Castle, but schoolmistresses, chamber-council, physicians, apothecaries,
and listeners-general to all the female inhabitants of Glen
Eredine. What endless, what innumerable stories did this latter
office oblige me to hear? I am persuaded that I know not only
the present circumstances and characters of every person in the
Glen, but their family history from time immemorial, besides
certain prophetic glimpses of their future fortunes.

I entirely escaped, however, the heavier labour of entertaining
idle gentlemen; for the bitterest storm of winter never confined
Eredine or Mr. Graham to the fireside. Wrapped in their plaids,
they braved the blast, as the sports or the employments of the
field required; and returned prepared to be pleased with everything
at home. Our evenings were delightful; enlivened as they
were by Eredine's cheerfulness, Charlotte's frank vivacity, and
Henry's sly, quiet humour.

How often in their course did I wonder that I could ever think
Maitland cold and stately? His extensive information, his
acquaintance with scenes and manners which were new to us all,
did indeed render his conversation a source of instruction, as well
as of amusement; but no man was ever more free from that
tendency towards dogma and harangue, which is so apt to infect
those who chiefly converse with inferiors. He joined his family
circle, neither determined to be wise nor to be witty, but to give
and receive pleasure. His was the true fire of conversation; the
kindly warmth was essential to its nature, the brilliance was an
accident. Maitland, indeed--but I must bid farewell to that name,
the only subject on which I cannot sympathize with the friends
whom I love the best. To me, though it be coupled with feeling
of self-reproach and regret, it is associated too with all that is
venerable in worth, and all that is splendid in eloquence. I
exchange it for a noble name,--a name which has mingled with
many a wild verse, and many a romantic tale,--a name which the
historian and the poet shall celebrate when they blazon actions
more dazzling, but not more virtuous, than those which daily
marked the life of Henry Graham!

Spring came; and never, since the first spring adorned Eden,
did that season appear so lovely! So soft were its colours, so
balmy its breezes, so pure, so peaceful its moonlight,--such repose,
such blest seclusion, such confidential kindly home-breathing
sweetness were in every scene! I shall never forget the delightful
coolness of a shower that dimpled the calm lake, as Graham and I
stood sheltered by an old fantastic fir-tree. No sound was heard
but the hush of the rain-drops, and now and then the distant
wailing of the water-fowl. "How often, both sleeping and awake,
have I dreamt of this!" said Graham, in the low confiding tone
which scarcely disturbed the stillness. "And even now, I can
scarcely believe that it is not all a dream. This profound repose!
every shadow sleeping just where it lay, when I used to wonder
what immeasurable depth of waters could so represent the vault
of heaven! And after my weary exile, to be thus near to all that
is dearest to me,--to feel their very touch, their very breath on my
cheek--"

I know not how it happened, but, at that moment, I breathed
with some difficulty, and moved a little away. But then I suddenly
recollected that Charlotte was standing at his other side;
and I moved back again, lest he should think me very silly indeed.
For Mr. Graham was no lover of mine; that is, he never talked
of love to me; but I had begun to feel an odd curiosity to know
whether he ever would talk of it, and when.

I pondered this matter very deeply for some days; and, after
sundry lonely rambles, and sederunts under the aforesaid fir-tree,
I convinced myself that, if Mr. Graham chose to make love, I
could not, without abominable ingratitude, refuse to listen.

I had returned from one of these rambles, and was just going to
enter the parlour, when, as I opened the door, I was arrested by
the voice of Graham within, speaking in that impressive tone of
suppressed emotion which he had already fixed irrevocably in my
recollection. "If it be so," said he, "I am gone to-morrow. This
day se'nnight I shall be in London."

I was thunderstruck. He was going then without a thought of
me! My hand dropped from the lock; and I turned away, in a
confused desire to escape from his sight and hearing.

"Bless me! Ellen! what is the matter with you?" cried Charlotte,
whom I met on the stair. I hurried past her without speaking,
and shut myself into my own apartment.

"What is the matter with me!" said I, throwing myself on a
seat. The question was no sooner asked than answered; and,
though I was alone, I could not help covering my face with my
hands. The first distinct purpose which broke in upon my amazement
and consternation, was to see Graham no more; to remain
in my place of refuge till he was gone; and then--it did not signify
what then!--all after-life must be a blank then!

However, I was obliged to yield to Charlotte's entreaties for
admission; and, though all the interests of life were so soon to
close, I was obliged to take my tea; and then I was half forced to
try the open air, as a remedy for the headache, to which, like all
heroines, I ascribed my agitation. I somewhat repented of this
compliance, however, when I found that Graham was to be the
companion of my walk; and, though I could not decently refuse
to take his arm, I endeavoured to look as frozen and disagreeable
as possible. He spoke to me, however, with such kind solicitude,
such respectful tenderness, that I was soon a little reconciled to
myself and him; and when Charlotte declared that she must stop
to visit a sick cottager, and he would by no means allow me to
breathe the close air of the cabin, I must own that I began to feel
an instinctive desire to escape a tete-a-tete. But I had not presence
of mind enough to defeat his purpose, and we pursued our walk
together.

He led me towards a little woody dell; I talking laboriously
without having anything to say, he preserving an abstracted
silence. But this could not long continue; and, by the time we
had lost sight of human dwelling, our conversation was confined to
short sentences, which, at intervals of some minutes, made the
listener start. In mere escape from the awkwardness of my situation,
I uttered some commonplace on the beauty of the scenery;
and desired Graham to look back towards the bright lake, seen
through the vista formed by the shaggy rocks, which threw a twilight
round us.

"Yes," said he, with a faint smile; "let us stand and look at it
together for a few short moments. Perhaps one of us will never
again see it with pleasure. Lean on me, dear Miss Percy, as you
are used to do, and let me be happy while I dare."

He paused, but my eloquence was exhausted. I could not utter
a word.

"This night, this very hour," he went on, "must make all these
beauties a sickening blank to me, or perhaps heighten their interest
a thousand-fold! Before we part this night, Ellen, I must
learn from you whether duty and pleasure are never to unite for
me. You know how long I have loved you, but I fear you can
scarcely guess how tenderly. Dearest Ellen! think what the affection
must be, which withstood your errors, your indifference,
your scorn;--which neither time, nor absence, nor reason, could
overcome. Think what it must be now, when I see thee all that
man ought to love! To live without you now, to remember thy
form in every scene, and know that thou art gone:--oh, Ellen! do
not force me to bear this! Say that you will permit me to try
what perseverance, what love unutterable, can do to win for me
such affection as will satisfy your own sense of duty, your own innocent
mind, in that blessed connexion which would make us more
than lovers or friends to each other."

He paused in vain for a reply. If the fate of the universe
had depended on my speaking, I could have uttered nothing intelligible.
I suppose, however, the pleader began to conceive
good hopes of his cause; for a certain degree of saucy exultation
mingled with the tones of entreaty, as he said, "Speak to me,
dearest Ellen--only one word. Tell me that I may one day hope
to hear you own, that friendship, or habit, or call it what you
will, has made me necessary to your happiness."

I would have given the world for some expression that should
convey decent security to the worthy heart of Graham, without
quite betraying the weakness of my own. "I cannot promise,"
said I, without daring to look up, "that ever you will bring me to
actual confession."

"Nay, Ellen," said the unreasonable creature, "think you this
little coquettish answer will content a man who asks his whole
happiness from you?"

"I am sure I do not mean to coquet. Tell me what you wish
me--what I ought to say, and I will say it--if I can?"

"My own, my bewitching Ellen!" said Graham.

But hold! I will not tell what he said. If Henry Graham for
once spoke nonsense, it would ill become me to record it. Nor
will I relate my answer; because, in truth, I know not what it
was. But Graham understood it to mean, that I was no longer
the arrogant girl whose understanding, dazzled by prosperity, was
blind to his merit; whose heart, hardened by vanity, was insensible
to his love; no longer the thoughtless being whose hopes and
wishes were engrossed by the most unsubstantial of all the cheats
that delude us in this world of shadows;--but a humbled creature,
thankful to find, in his sound mind and steady principle, a support
for her acknowledged weakness;--a traveller to a better country,
pleased to meet a fellow-pilgrim, who, animating her diligence, and
checking her wanderings, might soothe the toils of her journey,
and rejoice with her for ever in its blessed termination.

I have now been many years a wife; and, in all that time, have
never left, nor wished to leave, Glen Eredine. Graham is still a
kind of lover; and though I retain a little of the coquettish sauciness
of Ellen Percy, I here confess that he is, if it be possible,
dearer to me than when he first folded his bride to his heart,
and whispered, "Mine for ever."

We are still the guests of our venerable father; and within this
hour he told me that his heart makes no difference between me
and his own Charlotte. Some misses, lately arrived from a boarding-school,
have begun to call my sister an old maid; yet I do
not perceive that this cabalistic term has produced any ill effect on
Charlotte's temper or on her happiness.

I am the mother of three hardy, generous boys, and two pretty,
affectionate little girls. But far beyond my own walls extend the
charities of kindred. Many a smoke, curling in the morning sun,
guides my eye to the abode of true, though humble friends; for
every one of this faithful romantic race is united to me by the ties
of relationship. I am the mother of their future chieftain. Their
interests, their joys, their sorrows, are become my own.

Having in my early days seized the enjoyments which selfish
pleasure can bestow, I might now compare them with those of
enlarged affections, of useful employment, of relaxations truly
social, of lofty contemplation, of devout thankfulness, of glorious
hope. I might compare them!--but the Lowland tongue wants
energy for the contrast.

This presentation of Discipline: A Novel, by Mary Brunton
is Copyright 2003 by P.J. LaBrocca.
It may not be copied, duplicated,
stored or transmitted in any form without written permission.
The text is in the public domain.